To Love
by softer
Summary: Previously Titled 'Four Walls': Castle and Becket head north, revisit the past, and build on the future. Set post 'Boom'
1. BandAides

**_Here is my post-boom fic I have been alluding to._**  
**_Why YES, I do realize how insanely randomly late this is._**  
**_Why YES, you do love me anyways._**  
**_Think of it this way, I've had that much more time to put thought into it._**

**_Please, just give it a shot, yeah?_**

**_

* * *

_**

_To Emily, for convincing me to post this, and for putting up with me. And, you know, everything else. _

_**Band-Aides**_

...

Northern New York. Winter was beginning, and the last of the previous evenings heavy snow was still clinging with a vengeance to the banks of the roads and the old, weathered roofs of the single-leveled homes, and the chill that the cold front brought remained.

To this effect, Kate Beckett bundled up, draped not only in her warm black pea coat and complimenting red scarf but in matching gloves and a hat. She stepped out of her Crown Vic, already missing the rumble of the old vehicle running beneath her and the feel of the heater on her skin. Now she dealt with the chill, touching her even through the winter wear.

She pulled the scarf a little snugger around her neck and began her march up the walk. She reached the door- an old green thing with the paint slowly wearing away and the knocker's gold stain chipping off. She grabbed the cheap knocker and dropped it, letting the sound alert the world of her presence. A minute or so later a man appeared.

He was older, aging, surely, but the years had been kind, nevertheless. His gray hair and the freckles that dotted his slightly crooked chin brought a fond likeness out of Kate she forgot she felt. His face broke in a warm smile- it was the most comforting smile she had ever known, and she couldn't help but mirror it.

"Katie," he greeted her, and she only smiled wider.

"Hey dad," she said. She had nearly forgotten how much she missed him. He opened his arms in a gesture that did not demand return, but she responded anyways, letting him embrace her because she wanted it. Because he needed it. Because somewhere, she knew she needed it too.

She let out a small chuckle into his shoulder at the enthusiasm he put in the hold. It wasn't over the top or particularly bone-crushing, and she had no trouble breathing, but it was a light, familiar hug that wrapped her in more of a metaphorical warmth than a physical one. She was assaulted by the smell of Old Spice and cigar smoke that harbored itself in her father's clothes.

It was a nice smell.  
A conversant one.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, indicating the man behind her. She turned to face her companion, as if she didn't quite remember.

"This is Richard Castle," she told her dad, unable to suppress a smile, however small. "Castle," she looked at Rick again. "This is my father." Richard Castle reached across her to shake the older man's hand, the gesture well received.

"Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Castle," her father greeted. "It's Jim."

"Rick, please." He said, simply, nervousness edging in his voice.

"Come in, come in," Jim Beckett said, once he tore himself away. He ushered them in, and Kate took in the room around her. It wasn't the home she grew up in, no. She grew up in Manhattan- her mother loved the city too much to part with it even for a second, but he father moved up north after her death, moving in to the house he himself inherited after the death of Kate's grandfather.

Still, many fond memories remained in the old ranch house. Christmas mornings, Easter egg hunts, Halloween on occasion- any excuse to come visit her granddad. The furniture was just how she remembered, even after her father moved in. She sank down on the couch, an old worn brown thing, Castle beside her and her father took the lazy boy.

"Tea?" he asked her, indicating to the kitchen. She could tell not only by memory but by the God-awful shimmer gold and seashell tiling that was peeking into the living room. He disappeared without waiting for an answer.

"So this is where Katherine Beckett grew up?" she heard Castle's low voice in her ear.

"No, this is my Grandparent's old house," she explained.

"The pictures on the mantel tell another story," he told her, and she followed his eyes to the shelf about the old brick fireplace in the corner, where a half a dozen framed photographs of a brown-haired little girl decorated the surface.

Riding a bike, beating the chocolate out of a decorated cardboard piñata with a wooden bat, dancing under a rain of candy, and then an older Katherine, accepting her high school diploma, adorned in cap and gown. Sitting in an old rusted-over Bronco, beaming brightly.

"I visited a lot," she explained, dismissively. She played it off as inconsequential, but Castle could tell she was guarding the memory. She wasn't ready to share. He debated pushing the matter but decided against it.

It was she who spoke next.

"What am I going to tell him?" she turned to the man beside her, her tone taking a change for the serious. He rested a hand on her arm and pulled her into him in a sideways hug, and for some odd reason she let him.

"The truth. Just explain to him what happened."

"How do I do that?" The insecurity he felt in the big green eyes staring at him nearly broke his heart. She was searching for answers. Honest to God answers, and he wanted to procure them for her. He wanted so desperately to make it better.

"With words, would be your best bet," so much for honest to God. At least she cracked another smile before socking him in the shoulder, consequently putting distance between them. He held her gaze another second. "Just spit it out, Kate. Rip it off, like a Band-Aid."

It was then like clockwork set to fate's time that her father reentered, two cups of tea in hand. He handed one to his daughter and one to her friend before taking his seat in the lazy boy once again. "To what do I owe this impromptu visit?" he asked her, the one to break the thick silence that cloaked the room like a heavy winter overcoat.

"Well, dad, I'm in a bit of a pickle," Beckett began, slowly. She was choosing her words very carefully, approaching it warily. The Band-Aid idea seemed so great and easy not twenty seconds ago.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, concern pouring into his voice.

_Goddamn he sounded so worried. _

"There was an explosion," she said, wincing at the taste of the words. "At my apartment."

...

"_Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration." _

_Charles Dickens_


	2. Empty Frames

_To Andy. Thanks for being so inspiring. All credit for the story summary bit goes to that lovely woman. _

_**Empty Frames**_

_..._

Jim Beckett's face turned from shocked to confused to worried, in all of three seconds time as he comprehended what his daughter was telling him. She explained the serial killer, the bomb, the threats, the killings- it all hit him like a wave of the weeks worry she saved him from, the weight crushing him like it was literal. He couldn't help but notice Castle beside her as she talked, laying a hand on her back, comforting and damn near calming.

Like he was encouraging her to speak.

Then she was explaining how Castle's call warned her, how she dove into the tub, how he carried her out. He made a mental note to thank the man.

Bu the end of her tale her eyes were those wide saucers of green he could never resist, and in response he pushed her cup of tea towards her on the coffee table. "Drink it, Katie. It will make it better." The familiar words earned a smile from her like he knew if would, however small.

He noticed Castle's hand make a small circular motion on his daughter's back. "I can make your old room up, I just have to wash some linens and-"

"No, dad, I-" she cut off, and he swore he saw her sneak a glance at the man beside her. "I have a place to stay."

"Oh," was all he could muster as he drew his own conclusions.

"I was out shopping, you know, the essentials," he immediately flashed back to her freshman year of college, and a smile crept onto his face. She reached into her bag and pulled out a plastic 'thank you' bag, and out of it a wooden picture frame. He was confused at first, unsure of what she was showing him and what it meant.

"I have these picture frames," she began. "And I have nothing to put in them."

Realization dawned on him, and a smile appeared on his face. "Well luckily for you I have a daughter who loves taking pictures, hmm?" he asked her, and she mirrored his grin. "You two finish up your tea, I will go see what I can dig up," he told her, winking before standing and making his way through a carpeted hallway.

"See?" he heard the writer tell his daughter in a hushed voice, just before he was out of earshot. "I told you it would be okay."

But before he could hear her reply he was already too far away. He reached the third door on the right- Katie's door. There were times when she would stay for extended periods of time, and to the effect, she had her own room in the old house. The door was white, yellowed over a bit from time and cigar smoke, but a blue hand print, right above the door handle, was what made it Katie's. He traced over the tiny print before twisting the brass knob and swinging the door open.

...

Castle looked from Kate to Jim to Kate again. She was wrought with worry at her words, and he reached over to touch her. Not because he needed it, no, though he did, but because she did. She needed to know it was okay.

Ever since he brought up this visit, she had been nervous- he had never in his life seen her so nervous. She was worrying about what she would say, what he would think, what he would say, what he wouldn't.

He wasn't aware of their relationship, although he gathered it was very strong, and he figured it was multifaceted, as all are. Why she found it so hard to come to her father for help did not escaped him nonetheless.

He knew it wasn't easy for her to admit to needing anyone's help, but for her father- it was her job to be strong for them. He could see it in her eyes every time she talked about Jim Beckett, hell, Johanna. He was strong for them. The rock, the glue, the rope, whatever you want to call it. Whatever happened ten years ago shook them all and it was her who kept them tethered to the ground.

And this- well to her, this moment was the tether faltering and the glue slipping a little.

No, it didn't make rational sense.  
But that didn't matter.

His thoughts were interrupted by the clink of porcelain on porcelain as the woman in question set her tea down, and he remembered where his hand was resting, on the small of her back. He moved it in a small, soothing circle, just once, reminding her he was there.

"See?" he said, softly. "I told you it would be okay." He swore her small body let out a little tremble but it was so slight he pretended he imagined it.

"I just don't like-"

"I know," he assured her, reading on her face how much she disliked the taste of confession. She didn't need to explain. He wouldn't make her. She lifted her head, suddenly, catching his eyes with her own green ones, her hand finding purchase on his knee.

"Castle, I want to thank-" she was about to continue but movement caught her eye, and she turned to see her father standing in the doorway holding a large clear bin. She dropped her hand immediately, her face flushing only slightly.

"Here's one box," Jim set it on the floor beside the table. "There are plenty more where that came from in your room," he told her, a small smile forming on both their faces.

"I thought you didn't live here?" Castle asked, mirroring the two other's smile.

"I didn't. Not for more than a few months a time," she told him, saying very little and telling him much more. He let it drop.

"Rick, you going to stay and help us sort through all these?" Jim asked, taking both Castle and Kate by surprise with the offer.

"If I'm welcome," he replied, with a careful eye on Beckett's reaction.

"Of course, Castle, she responded, genuinely, lifting herself off the couch and sliding to a sitting position on the floor, the box in front of her. He smiled a boyish grin and mimicked her, crossing his legs Indian style on the floor.

"Be careful- I'm not sure you know what you're getting into here-" Jim Beckett completed the circle around the box, lifting the red lid with an almost ceremonial flourish. "There are at least six more boxes like this."

"Are they all labeled by date?" Castle asked with amusement in his voice, noticing the handwritten label on the side of the bin.

_Jan 1995- Dec 1995_

Jim nodded. "Inside they are filed by location." Castle turned his amused face towards Beckett, who shrugged.

"I went through a phase," she dismissed, eager to get her fingers on the photographs before her.

"Then let's get started, shall we?"

_..._

_"For some life lasts a short while, but the memories it holds last forever." _

_Laura Swenson_


	3. These Photographs

_Susan. Anyone who reads anything decent knows your name from story dedications alone. I think it speaks for itself._

**_These Photographs_**

…

Kate Beckett had lost track of time.

She was sprawled out on the floor now, the entire living room covered in old photographs, with her father on one side of her and Castle on the other, sitting in a sea of photo paper and memories that flooded her brain, all demanding the forefront of her attention. Beside her, Castle and her dad shared stories- Castle would come across a photo and Jim would indulge in a memory, sharing in details the history.

She didn't mind.

She thought she would, but letting him in- trusting Castle with this part of her- wasn't hard.

It wasn't as hard as she thought it would be.  
It wasn't as hard as it should have been.

As hard as she made it in the past.

About halfway through Castle stopped calling her Beckett- "Kate," he would call, holding up a particularly amusing photo. It didn't bother her at all- he was after all sitting on the floor of her father's house sifting through thousands of photos with her. Formalities were pushed aside, although she still called him by his last name.

Baby steps.

She was laughing lightly at a joke he made when she came across it, her heart leaping into her throat and cutting her laughter short.

Her mother stared back at her from the colored photo, bright green eyes shimmering with the life and merriment she always remembered. Kate felt a grin pulling upward at her lips.

Her mother never smiled with only her mouth, it was always in her eyes, too. Like her lips turning up was merely a side effect.

She was in the photo, too- a fifteen year old Kate with double ear piercings and hair secured back with a scruchie. They were sitting, side by side, on the stairs leading into Shakespeare's Garden. It was forever _their_ place- always was and always would be.

Kate couldn't help but lose herself in the memory, if not just for a moment. Johanna would always bring her there- they had lived in the city then, so Central Park wasn't a big deal for them, but the garden was. They would go there and watch the birds, sometimes the people, or read.

Kate remembered this particular day like it had just happened. There was an old man watching the birds, a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck, and she approached him, holding out her camera, hopefully. He took their picture graciously, smiling as he handed back the camera and carried on his business.

"What is it?" Castle's voice brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to find both men looking at her, curious expressions drawn on their faces.

She considered dismissing it as nothing and tucking it away, but she didn't. Instead she shifted her body, wiggling towards Castle until her side was pressed up against his, only just so, but so, nonetheless. He leaned over her shoulder to see. She couldn't see his face, given their position, but she swore she could hear his smile in the way he was breathing, soft pats of air hitting her neck as the infliction grew evident.

He deliberated teasing her about the 'Styx' tee and baggy plaid over-shirt she wore in the picture, but did not. Instead he commented on her mother.

"She was beautiful," he said, hoping it was the right thing to say.

Praying it was the right thing to say.

He breathed a sigh of relief he hoped she didn't notice when the corner of her mouth turned up. "Yeah," there was a moment of quiet. "Yeah, she was."

He was close and she was so warm. He could smell her shampoo- something fruity that he couldn't place. Purple. As weird as it was, he smelled purple.

He shook away those thoughts and pulled away, giving her the space they both needed.

Jim Beckett watched this interaction with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He didn't know much about the writer, except for what his daughter told him, but as he watched the two, he could tell they were close. He made a mental sticky note and stored it away, refocusing on his daughter.

It was then she reached out towards him, handing him the photo. His face lit up at the sight, his expression displaying the full spectrum of emotion before settling on happiness. He handed the photo back before it became too much.

Katie was good at this- at the pictures, the memories, the celebration of the life they shared. He- he was not so much about the celebration. It was still hard for him.

Hard for him to relive the life he no longer had, hard for him to smile at the thought that he'd never see hers again. It wasn't the sort of feeling of loss you got over.

But he did see that smile- he saw it every day on his daughter's face. A spitting image of her mothers. As if Kate's mannerisms weren't reminiscent of Johanna enough. He smiled at his daughter, seeing only for a moment the wife he still loved, and stood, excusing himself.

"It's still not easy, sometimes," she told Castle, when her dad was out of earshot, before Castle could ask. Not that he was about too. "Emotions- good or bad ones- they come back that much stronger." Her eyes wandered around the room until they inevitably fell on his. "There is only so much someone can take."

It was like she was defending him, and he didn't know why she felt the need.

"You know," he told her. "There are times when it takes everything I have to refrain from telling you exactly that."

She looked confused for a moment, her brow knitted as if trying to figure out a puzzle, but smiled after thought. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but promptly closing it, all idea of what to say escaping her. After a moment of silence passed, the conversation left off comfortably, he spoke again.

"It's snowing," he said, his voice soft and almost hushed, and she follows her line of sight until she was the white precipitation collecting on the window pane.

"It is," she replied, equally as soft. She leaned back on her hands, resting there, watching the snow fall out of the window.

"It's going to be hell getting back to the city."

"Yeah," she murmured back, not really thinking into it, but rather losing herself out of the window, letting herself be swept away by the mesmerizing flecks whizzing past in a flurry of wind and white.

Kate Beckett had lost track of time.

For the first time in years, she had lost track of time.

...

"_Photography records the gamut of feelings written on the human face, the beauty of the earth and skies that man has inherited, and the wealth and confusion man has created. It is a major force in explaining man to man."_

_ Edward Steichen_


	4. Saratoga in the Winter

_This one is a loooong one, to make up for how long it took to post.  
Life is getting a bit hectic, so these might take some more time than normal.  
This one is for AC. Thanks for the gear. I love love love it. _

_**Saratoga in the Winter**_

"It's getting late."

Kate raised her eyes from the photograph she held in her hand to see her window view of the street now cloaked in black, her father's comment ringing true. _How had it gotten so late?_ Snow was still falling in large, unrelenting flakes, and when she stood to look she saw it blanketing the roads and grass in thick sheets. _Shit. _

She heard someone rise from the floor and by the faint smell of cologne and Coast soap she knew it was Castle behind her, looking out of the window over she shoulder.

"Dear Lord."

"What?" she asked, turning to face him, struck worried by his tone.

"Nothing, just imagining crossing the Lincoln Tunnel in this mess." Kate couldn't help but snort.

"The Lincoln? Try the Holland. I bet you five dollars there is at _least _a two mile back-up."

"Not that either of you need worry about that tonight," Jim Beckett interrupted from his spot on the floor. The two turned around completely to see him, taking in the mess that was the living room. The coffee table, a tinted glass piece propped up on two classy wooden legs, had been pushed unceremoniously to the side of the area, leaving a greater expanse of carpet, every inch of which was covered by photographs.

Piles were there, somewhere, they just needed to be dug out again, and three tea cups sat on the rejected coffee table, their contents long since warm, condensation rings staining the glass table they sat on.

"Excuse me?" Kate asked, raising her eyebrow at her dad. Oh, Castle knew that tone. He braced himself for the verbal beat down that was most likely to ensue.

"You heard me. There is no way in hell you're leaving in that mess out there."

"Dad," she began, trying to reason with the man.

"No. I'm serious, Katie. You know how I feel about driving and the snow." The two shared a look, and Castle was under the impression that he was missing something. The eye war lasted about a half a minute, the longest minute Castle had ever experienced in his life, and then Kate sighed, defeated.

"Fine." She didn't want to fight. "What's for dinner?" She asked, because she needed a way to bite back. Her father's surprised face told her she had succeeded.

"I can go fix up something," he recovered, standing.

"Not TV dinners?"

"What kind of father do you think I am, exactly?" Jim feigned offence. "Meanwhile, you two kids can clean up the mess you made my living room, huh?" he raised his eyebrow in what Castle considered a very Beckett-esque fashion before turning around and disappearing into the kitchen.

Castle wanted to pry. He wanted to know what Jim was talking about, why he hated driving in the snow, why Kate flashed fear when he brought it up. Fear, and then sadness, if he read her correctly. But he did none of these things. Using self-control he wasn't aware he owned, he made a joke.

"Am I just imagining things, or did he just ground us?" Castle asked, easing what was about to become an awkward situation. Kate just smiled, a mixture of amused and relieved.

"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me clean this up?" She asked, carefully avoiding the word 'mess.' She started scooping up the pictures, making neat piles of them. This wasn't a mess to her; anything but. It was memories, it was love, happiness, art. Stolen moments of a life she once lived. A life her mother once lived.

Mess, no.  
Everything else.

Yeah.

Castle was bending down across from her, also straightening the piles, boxing the ones she was leaving and separating the ones she decided to keep. He was careful with the photographs, handling them by the very edges and wary not to tear them. Kate didn't fail to notice the care he was taking, and she smiled to herself.

"What?" He asked her, looking up from his work.

"What?" she asked back, her smile not fading.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," she said, and then, after a moment: "I was just thinking."

"Thinking what?"

"None of your beeswax was what I was thinking," she shot back, clearly not ready to soften on him. But it wasn't his fault they were stuck here. There was this irrational part of her that wanted to lash out at him, wanted to blame him but she stifled that urge. He did nothing wrong.

They continued their work in a comfortable silence.

When Jim Beckett returned, he walked into a brand-new living room. The floor was visible now, the coffee table back in place and the couch once again presentable. His daughter and the writer sat on the floor, reasons unbeknownst to him, shoulders touching and apparently deep in conversation. Rick said something, she laughed, he smiled. He cleared his throat and stepped into full view, two plates in hand. He handed one to his daughter, one to the man beside her, and retrieved his own, opting to sit on the floor as well, opposite the two.

What they were was unclear to him- it wasn't like Katie was open to him about this sort of thing, but after Johanna died…Well he had been promoted to top confidante. While he was fairly sure they weren't dating, he knew that the relationship went deeper than a simple platonic work relationship. He made a mental note to ask her later.

"So spaghetti-o's and steamed broccoli isn't exactly a four-course meal, but I wasn't exactly expecting company." He explained, kindly.

"It's perfect," Castle said, digging into his meal like a starving animal.

"Castle!" Kate scolded him. "Were you raised by wolves?"

"You've met my mother, you tell me." Kate just shook her head at his comeback, fighting off a grin.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she shot back.

"Don't ask me questions while my mouth's full," he said, although with a mouth full of spaghetti-o's, it came out more like 'Don' as' me ques'ons whe' my mouf's full'

Jim watched the interaction, unable to stop the smile it produced. It was like watching mother and child, but in a very romantically endearing sort of way.

**...**

Rick accepted the pile of folded sheets the older man handed to him, along with the pillow and the blanket. "I think there is everything you will need. Pillow, pillow case, sheets, blanket, socks."

"Socks?" Castle asked.

"This is Saratoga in the winter, son. You will want them."

"Thank you," Castle said, setting the sheets on the couch. He was about to start setting up camp when the sight of Beckett stopped him short. She was marching down the hallway towards him, her own comforter and pillow in her arms.

"What are you doing?" Rick and Jim asked, simultaneously. To this she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sleeping in that bed, dad. In case you failed to notice, I've grown about a foot since I slept in that bed last, and the vent is under the dresser, and all the hot air is getting trapped, so it's _freezing _in there." The two men looked at her, Jim on alert and Castle just looked confused and a little scared. "Relax," she said, to both of them. Jim did, Castle didn't. "The couch is a sectional. I can just push the ottoman to this side of the 'L' and we can each sleep on our own ends."

At this, Castle seemed to relax, although only a little.

"Alright," Jim said, knowing he really didn't have any control over the matter and that arguing would be futile. "I'm going to go get ready for bed." And with that, he exited down the hall and into his bedroom.

"I have to go call Alexis," Castle told her, his voice soft. As if something may set her off.

"Go a head into the kitchen, I'll just be right here," she offered with a small smile. He was acting like she was going to attack him in his sleep or something. She grew restless after he had left to the kitchen, cell phone in hand, so she grabbed the pile of sheets he had left and started making up the couch for him.

"What are you doing?" her dad returned, clad in plaid pajamas and slippers, a toothbrush hanging loosely in his mouth.

"Nice pj's," she told him, laughing at them. Her father looked down at himself, unaware of the humor.

"What? What's wrong with my pajamas?"

"Nothing, they are just..." she trailed off, unable to find the word she wanted. Instead she laughed, the image of her dad with a pipe and a newspaper now permanently burned into her brain.

"Oh, as if yours are any better!" he pointed his toothbrush at her, accusingly.

"What?" she acted appalled, looking down at her own tank top and sweatpants.

"Why are you making Castle's bed?"

"He's in the kitchen, calling his daughter," she answered, caught off guard by the question.

"Oh." He knew the man had a daughter, if he remembered correctly, Kate talked quite a bit about her, but for some reason he had momentarily forgotten that. Kate continued making up the couch, tucking in the sheets before throwing the blanket and pillow over top and settling on to her side of the sectional, her head at the cushion that both ends shared. She wrapped herself in her comforter, relishing in the smell. It was a very…nostalgic smell. Like her grandfather's cigar smoke, lip smackers perfume and youth.

**...**

"Is everything okay? Are you okay? Is Kate alright?" Alexis was firing a hundred miles a minute, and Castle couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him.

"Yes, sweetie. She's fine, we are both fine," Castle assured his daughter. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the figure that was Jim Beckett standing against the kitchen entrance. "I will call you first thing tomorrow. Yes. Don't forget that permission slip-"

"The one on the kitchen counter you reminded me three times about? I'm fine dad. I put it in my book bag an hour ago. Grams is here, I'm going to survive the night without you."

"Is she feeding you okay?" he asked, with false concern.

"Yes, dad. We had chicken parmesan and this penne pasta dish."

"Doors locked?"

"Yes, dad."

"Perimeter secured?"

"Dad."

"Oxygen levels at a norm?"

"Dad," her tone was visiting the different levels of annoyed, condescending, and finally, amused.

"I love you, pumpkin. Goodbye."

"Love you too, dad. Goodnight." He hung up the phone, staring at it a moment longer before sticking it in his pocket.

"It's not easy, is it?" The voice of Jim sounding his presence. Rick turned to face him.

"What's that?" The tenderness he maintained when he talked to his daughter was easily replaced with his carefree tone.

"Saying goodbye."

"No," he let out a small, almost nervous chuckle. "No it's not." After another silence, he looked up at the older man. "You know, my daughter is the most responsible, mature young adult I know." Another lapse of silence. "I think that's the scariest thing of it all." The admission was quiet and serious, but Jim let out a soft laugh. Not a sarcastic one, no. A knowing one.

"I understand completely." More silence. "Castle." Their gazes met. "You need to know, my daughter is not the only one who sleeps with a gun."

Castle would have laughed if he hadn't been scared shitless. Since when had he been this intimidated by a father before? Not since he was fifteen. "Yes sir." Was all he could manage.

"Well I'm off to bed." Jim smiled, the serious moment having had past. "Just know. I am a very _very _light sleeper."

_Exactly what kind of things did he think we're going to do on his couch? _Castle asked himself, before quickly dismissing the answers his mind gladly contoured up for him.

**...**

"Castle, are those my dad's socks?" Kate asked him, when he laid down on his side of the couch. He seemed to be adopting the head-to-feet principle, resting his head on the far end of his side and his feet by her head on the cushion that joined the legs of the 'L.'

"It's Saratoga in the winter and I'm going to want them," she heard Castle's muffled reply.

"Well get them the hell out of my face," she told him, pushing his feet off the couch. "Lay with your head up here." There was a lot of loud shifting as he repositioned himself but he obliged, his head resting by hers at a 90 degree angle.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"What was that about?" He asked, curiously.

"'Cause I want to tell you something, and I don't want to tell your feet."

"Oh." Silence ensued. He lay on his back, staring into the black, guessing it was the ceiling. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was perfect. Neither of them knew it, but she was mirroring his position, her hands tucked behind her head as she stared off into the black. A quote from Galileo jumped to memory and she smiled, briefly at the thought.

"I was sixteen." She began, with a deep breath. "Please-" she stopped his question before he could ask it. "Just let me tell the story. I was sixteen, my friends and I were supposed to go out, Friday night, you know, my friend Melissa was having a party at her place. So she pulls up in her Nova to pick me up, and my dad told me I couldn't go.

I was furious. I hated him for it, I had wanted to go for weeks, but it was snowing. It was snowing so badly, it was amazing she made it as far as she did." The air was cold and dead between them. He daren't speak for fear she was not done. Another deep breath and she continued. "She made it a mile and a half before she took a dive into the creek. Black ice on the road. It was frozen over, and it was just snowing so badly."

She kept repeating the two words clinging to them with a sort of desperation Castle never wanted to hear in her voice.

"She lasted four days in a comma before she passed."

"Beckett, I-" Castle stopped short, still absorbing this. "I'm sorry, Kate."

"It's okay," she said, and he swore he heard her sniff. There was the sound of her rolling over onto her stomach, and then she spoke again, this time her voice slightly muffled from the pillow. "Anyways, that's why my dad is very big on the snow and not driving."

"I didn't ask," he reminded her.

"I know. Thank you."

"Goodnight, KB."

"G'night, Castle," she mumbled back, burying her face in the pillow and curling her long arms under it, stretching.

Her fingers brushed against something.  
Skin.

_Shit. _

Now her hand was touching his under their pillows.

Not that she minded- they were warm and soft and…warm.

She froze.  
She couldn't move them, that would be rude.  
She couldn't just _leave _them there, he would get the wrong impression.  
So she froze.

Her hand touched his.  
Her felt it, an accompanying spark of electricity along with it.

It was a simple touch, innocent, accidental.

He couldn't move his hand away.  
He didn't want to give her the wrong idea.

He couldn't grab her hand.  
He didn't want to give her that impression, either.

All of a sudden all the images of them on the couch assaulted him again, and again he pushed them out of mind. He moved his forefinger, brushing her finger ever so lightly.

And they both breathed a small, silent sigh of relief.

...

"_I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night" _

_Galileo Galilei_


	5. Subtext

_This one goes to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, subscribed, Favorited, and tweeted me about this fic.  
Thank you, dearly. It would be nothing without you._

**_Subtext_**

...

Jim Beckett made his way down the hall, his slippers sliding along the hardwood in a familiar way as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The sun, still rising, slowly but surely, blanketed the living room in a soft morning glow, illuminating the couch and it's two occupants. They were just how he left them, on opposite legs of the 'L,' which made him sigh in relief. Once that came and went, he smiled at the two.

His daughter was a mere cocoon, wrapped up in her comforter, the top of her auburn hair and bottoms of her socked feet the only visible proof of life. Castle was much more spread out, an arm draped over the side of the couch, one long leg escaping the confines of the covers and jutting out from the end of the couch, socks hanging a little too large on his feet.

Jim just smiled to himself, a father first and a romantic second, and shuffled into the kitchen to start up something edible for breakfast.

...

Castle felt sleep slipping away, and he tried to hold on to it, but to no avail. He started to stretch, content to curl back further into the covers and hold onto that wonderful new-morning moment, when he froze. He tightened his hand, slightly, to feel two fingers hooked around his thumb, holding onto it. Carefully he lifted his pillow with his free hand, peeking under to confirm it: Kate Beckett was holding his hand. He thought about taking his hand back, thought about diffusing the awkwardness she would no doubt feel when she woke, but he liked the sight of it too much to undo it.

Way too much.

Instead of reading into it any further, he looked a moment longer, admiring the way her small fingers held his larger ones before returning his pillow over their hands, resting his head back down.

...

Kate woke to the smell of cologne. The scent she couldn't place, she never really could with those sort of three-note smells, but it was faint in a pleasant sort of way, there but not overwhelmingly so. It was nice, something with a huge price tag and a celebrity name, so doubt, and just…nice. She frowned, realizing the feel of skin beneath her fingers. She moved them, slightly, her eyes still closed as she felt out a hand.

_Shit._

Last night was bad enough. She must secretly really hate herself, putting herself through this torture. She didn't have to look to envision it: her fingers, wrapped around his thumb, lightly, his fingertips consequently brushing the smooth plane of the back of her hand.

_God._

She supposed it could be worse. Way, way worse.

She opened her eyes at last, greeting the morning officially. She slipped her hand out of his, sitting up, the comforter she had wrapped around her body falling to the ground. "Castle." She called, softly, almost unwilling to break him from what looked like a very peaceful slumber.

He was draped all over the couch, with an arm dangling off one edge and a foot off another, his head buried into his pillow and the blankets twisted around his body that shouldn't be possible. He looked so content there. Warm. Cute, even.

"Castle," she said again with more volume. She reached out and poked him, warily. No response. "Castle," she said again, poking harder. He grumbled, rolling over, and she did a double take as new skin was revealed to her. All she could see was the bare expanse of chest exposed to her, the hard lines of his muscles and the smooth skin.

"Cold," he mumbled, reaching for the blanket, trying to pull it up to his chin. She was quicker, though, grabbing a hold of the hem and yanking it away. More grumbling ensued.

"Get up, Castle."

"I'm cold!" he complained back, still fluctuating from sleep and wakefulness.

"Get up and you won't be cold," she reasoned, trying really hard not to stare. "Good morning," she greeted, her words much softer when he sat upright, rubbing his eyes free of sleep.

"G'morning. Why is it so cold?" Without a blanket, all he could do was cross his arms, covering himself, damn near modestly, from the cold and her eyes.

"It's Saratoga in the winter, that's why. Where is your shirt?"

"Well I couldn't sleep in my shirt from yesterday," he began, defensively.

"I'll go get one of my dad's," she told him, her voice almost hushed, as she struggled to avert her gaze. He was either oblivious to her embarrassment or was kind enough to not comment because he only nodded, stretching out and reaching for his jeans. When she returned, a faded red crew-neck in hand, he was standing in the living room, in nothing but his blue jeans, folding the sheets he had slept on. She tossed it to him, proud that despite her refusal to look at his directly, the fabric hit him in the chest.

"Thank you," he told her, and he slipped his arms into the shirt, pulling it over his torso. He was quite a bit taller than her father, and definitely broader in the chest, so the shirt was a bit tight fitting, but not obnoxiously so. Still, muscles were most definitely evident.

"You folded my comforter," she said, more of a statement than a question, as she stared at the neat pile.

"You made my bed up," he reasoned with a shrug, and then after a brief moment of staring at each other: "What's that smell?"

Kate opened her mouth to answer, but it was Jim Beckett who spoke. "Breakfast," both Kate and Castle turned to see him stepping into the doorframe of the living room, wiping his hands on a towel. He was dressed in casual blue jeans and a plaid button up, the long, flannel sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

A small silence passed as Jim processed the writer in his favorite red shirt, and upon deciding not to comment, he tossed the hand towel over his shoulder. "Care to eat?"

...

All that could be heard was the soft ping of silverware against glass as the three ate. Scrambled eggs were shuffled about and shoveled around, the dining room table cluttered with pepper, salt, and a Costco bottle of Hunt's ketchup. Castle's plate was a massacre of red and yellow, Jim's not looking too different as they were very generous with the ketchup. Kate made a face.

"That's disgusting," she informed them, reaching over her clean plate of neatly piled eggs for the apple butter. She used a knife to spread the stuff on her piece of brown toast before repeating the action with the blueberry jam.

"That's any better?" Her father asked, nodding to her toast. This earned a snort of laughter from Castle, who's mouth was too full for a real laugh. She bit her lip, trying not to smile herself. Her father always teased her about this particular habit- fresh blueberries atop her jam atop her apple butter atop her toast. It was something she learned from her grandfather years ago. She was bothered about it her whole childhood, yet her father always seemed to have the ingredients on hand.

"Hush," she told him, sending one of her playful glares across the table.

It amazed Castle that that glare could be playful and menacing at the same time. He watched the two interact, back and forth like there wasn't 183 miles in between them. He knew it killed her, that her father lived so far away, that she didn't get to see him often. He knew from last night that it killed Jim, too. He looked from Kate to Jim, and then down at his plate and himself.

Years of studying literature told him exactly what meals just like this meant. But, he reminded himself, this was real life, not literature. There were no lines to read between. There was no subtext. This was breakfast, not communion.

In literature, the two may be quite nearly synonyms, but this was not literature, he said silently again.

Kate was still in her pajamas- lose fitting flannel sweats and a sensible, white tank top. Her socks were lost somewhere in the couch no doubt, so her bare toes curled against the cold of the tiled kitchen floor. He wasn't seeing anything he hadn't seen before-that dress she wore to the gala some time before didn't cover her shoulders, or much over her torso, for that matter, but this was different.

There was something about the situation. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't working a case, maybe it was the fact that she chose to wear the revealing top with full knowledge of his presence, maybe it was the fact that Jim Beckett was there, too. Rick couldn't put his finger on it, but for some reason this was different.

Soft.  
Tender, almost.

There he was again, reading in between the lines that didn't exist. Who was he kidding, of course there were lines to be read between. Weren't there always?

_Hadn't he learned anything in college?_ A small voice inside his head asked him. With horror he realized that that voice shared an infliction with his mother.

"Castle," Kate's voice drew him from his thoughts before he could think that any further.

"Hmm?" he asked, looking at her, forcing his eyes to stay trained on hers. They were just _shoulders _for crying out loud. Gorgeous, gorgeous shoulders.

"Can you pass me the blueberries?" she asked him, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

"Of course," he handed her the small bowl. "So, what's the plan for the day?" he asked, making conversation. He watched as Kate and Jim shared a look.

"There is a fresh blanket of snow outside without a single footprint," Jim told him, as if the answer was plainly obvious.

"Dad is really touchy about his snow," Kate told Castle in a stage whisper. Castle's brow furrowed, confused.

"It's been a while since I have had a decent snowman on my lawn, Katie," Jim told his daughter, matter-of-factly.

"And Mauberry hill is gonna be packed by noon," she told him.

"We will have to work fast, then," Jim told her. "I'll get the trashcan lids, you get Mr. Castle here some decent snow clothes."

Kate nodded and raised her hand in salute before pushing away her plate and grabbing Castle by the wrist. "C'mon," she told him, tugging him along, hurriedly. "I think my dad has some shoes that will fit you."

"Trashcan lids?" Castle asked, questioningly.

"Oh, Rick. You missed out, living your whole life in the city."

There went the last name, right out the window.  
And all he could do was beam.

...

_The difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense._

_Tom Clancy_


	6. Toulouse

_Brownie points for those who get the Ethan Frome reference. Double points for reviewing._

_**Toulouse**_

_**...**_

"Oh my _god,_" Castle huffed, channeling his inner whiney-child. "Are we there yet?" They were trudging along the road, the banks of which were now, thanks to the snow trucks, miniature mountains.

She was leading the way, a steaming hot coffee in one gloved hand and the other tucked under her arm for warmth. Rick was behind her, using a piece of rope tied to the plastic handle of the trashcan lid to pull it along in his tracks.

"The next time you ask that, you're bringing the sled _back,_" she warned, not breaking her steady stride. They both knew he would insist on carrying it back anyways, but the threat still seemed valid. "Pick up your feet, dude, or we are going to be the last ones in line."

"In line?" She heard the man call after her. She smiled to herself, cradling the coffee close to her lips. After a moment of silence, she heard: "How much longer?"

"You are such a baby," she stopped and whipped around, making a grab for the trash can lid. He jerked it out of her reach, though, holding it almost possessively to his chest.

"No, no," he said. "I got it." She just rolled his eyes, and their eyes locked for only a moment, before she bit her lip and broke away.

"Well then, Mr. chivalry, shut up and keep moving. Just up this hill, and we are there."

Castle bit back whatever smart response he had prepared and readjusted the rope over his shoulder.

...

Castle looked from Beckett, then to the plunging hill before him, and then to the single trash can lid he held in his gloved hand. "Becks, how exactly-"

"Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you've never snagged a lunch tray, skipped school and hit central park, hard," she told him, crossing her arms.

"No," he told her. "But I wasn't this big, the lunch trays were much sturdier, and I didn't try to fit two people on it."

"It's gonna be fine," she told him, flippantly, snatching the makeshift sled and setting on the snow at the top of the hill. It really was a monster of a hill, with a sharp decline and snow ramps where kids were piling snow to get a lift. "Sit," she told him.

"Why me in the front?" he asked, eyes open wide. This was sounding less and less fun. He was convinced- they were going to die.

"What ever happened to the spontaneous, care-free, living life to the fullest Richard Castle I know? Because the man I know isn't scared of a little hill," she challenged, knowing full well what she was asking for.

Without another word, Castle sat in the bowl of the round lid, careful to keep it from sliding away on the slick snow. "Scoot all the way back, and spread your legs," she demanded. _Please don't make a raunchy comment, please don't make a raunchy comment, _she silently begged.

Either he heard her telepathic please or he discovered good taste, because he said nothing but obliged. She sat down in front of him, and they had to squeeze to fit on the sled, but after some re-adjusting, they both fit fairly comfortably.

Kate reached behind her body and grabbed his forearms, pulling them around her waist. "Hold on, Mattie," she said, with a sarcastic edge.

"That was both very hot and very nerve-wracking, thank you," he whispered. She couldn't help the shudder when the warmth of his breath touched the freezing, exposed skin of her left ear.

Who was he to disobey a beautiful woman? He held her tight to is chest, all the while looking around for an Elm tree. She laughed at his antics and when he buried his face into her shoulder, bracing himself, she kicked with her foot, sending them flying over the edge.

The two were thrown down the hill, landing a small, man-made jump with a hard crash. The plastic of the trashcan lid was slippery on the icy snow, and the round sled spun as they made their way to the bottom.

Castle dare not speak but held onto Kate- he wasn't sure which was harder to endure- her body pressed up against his own, or her back bouncing against his chest. He decided the latter and tried his best to keep from jolting around too much.

Kate laughed the whole way down, her arms still draped over his around her, her nails digging into his coat sleeves. He swore he could feel it through the thick garment, and the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing beneath, and the long underwear beneath that.

His eyes clenched shut, the reason being irrelevant, and when at last he opened them, they were at the bottom. "Rick," Kate was saying. "Castle! It's over, you can let me go now."

"Oh," he opened his eyes, dropping his arms from around her while she dropped her gaze to the sled, him mumbling a small apology. But he refused to let it get awkward, so he caught her green eyes with his electrified blue ones, a childlike glee filling them. "Let's do that again."

...

"That. Was. So. Much. Fun." Rick told her, practically bouncing up and down on the couch. They had spent a good few hours on that hill- going down, walking up, going down, walking up, over and over again until their clothes were soaked through and their legs too numb to go on.

"Yeah, it was," she agreed. She couldn't help but push her shoulders back trying to crack her back. Fun, yes, but painful. They had made a few nasty wipeouts and rough landings. "Thanks for taking me."

"Taking you? Thank you, for sharing. I assure you, the pleasure was entirely mine." It should have been smarmy but the way he said it wasn't.

He had showered and then she, and now they were both clean and in dry clothes, hot coffee in hand. Jim had gone to town to get groceries for dinner- leaving Rick and Kate with the last two boxes of pictures to go through.

She leaned forward, setting down her coffee and picking up the box. She crossed her legs and settled in with her pile, handing Rick a pile of his own. He laughed at the first photograph he came to. "What?" Kate leaned over him to see.

"You, a metal bat, and this poor little boy holding his face, in tears. I must know this story." He flipped the picture around so she could see, and she laughed herself when she realized.

"Ninth birthday party. My dad made the mistake of getting me a piñata," she explained. Now the respectable space between them on the couch was no more, and their knees and shoulders were touching.

"And this?" he flipped the picture back to reveal another, this one with a 10 year old Kate, laying in a hospital bed. She had bandages around her right knee cap and a cast around her right arm.

"Bicycle accident, fifth grade. Compound break to my Ulna and a mild sprain to the Medial Epicondyle, and a nasty scrape to my knee. 12 stitches in all."

"And your parents let you get a motorcycle after this?"

"Let's just say neither were particularly pleased when I drove home to visit on one one day," she told him, smirking almost deviously. She reached over and flipped to the next picture, ready to change the subject, but speech never came, as the next photograph made her breath catch.

It was of her father, sitting on the steps one Halloween. Three jack-o-lanterns glowed on the porch step- one smaller than the other, in a Russian dolls sort of fashion. A teenaged Kate Beckett sat beside him, her small arms wrapped around his. It was candid, with both father and daughter looking off at something behind the photographer, and the moment seemed rather…stolen.

Jim was dressed as the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz and Kate was Dorothy, complete with checked blue dress and glistening ruby slippers.

"What is it?" Castle asked after a long, heavy silence. His voice was hushed- tentative. He didn't want to pry or push, but he wanted to know the story too badly not to ask.

"Nothing, its just-" she ran a finger down the side of the photo, her eyes glued to it. "Pictures of my mother and I- I have a ton of those. Irreplaceable, too, don't get me wrong. But when she was gone…" She broke off a moment, her voice cracking without permission. "I have hardly any pictures of my father and I." Again she broke off, trying to find the right words. "When she was gone, there was no one to take them."

Castle wanted desperately to say something. To find the words he loved so dearly to tell her it was okay. He wanted to reach for her, to wrap her in his arms and never let her go. He didn't do any of this, but rest a hand on her knee, lightly.

Castle knew how to use words.  
How to wield them, use them, bend them for his own utilization.

The hardest thing he had to learn was when words needn't be used at all.  
Now he was learning how to use silence.

Kate moved the photo from the pile they were flipping through and gently set it with the ones she was keeping. She returned to see the next picture, one seemingly taken at the same occasion, of Kate as Dorothy, skipping down the street, wicker basket in hand.

She laughed, and Castle visibly relaxed, glad for the change in mood.

"What?" he asked, this time a smile inflicting his voice.

"This was one of my favorite holidays ever. My dad was the Scarecrow, I was Dorothy, and my mother was the Wicked Witch of the West." He shared her laughter then. "My dad always said, 'well, Katie, if you must be Dorothy, I must be the scarecrow,' when I asked why, he told me because the Scarecrow was Dorothy's best friend. Then I asked him why mom was the witch, and my dad told me it was because-"

"It was because Joanna had a thing for rhyming words," Jim Beckett finished, coming up behind them. The two on the couch jumped a mile in the air, unaware of his return. Immediately, Castle dropped his hand from her knee and moved to a more respectable distance. Jim seemed to notice this and smiled, more to himself than anything.

"Dad!" Kate was holding the photo in one hand, the other clutching her chest. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"Watch your language, young lady," he reprimanded, although not very authoritatively. She responded by smacking him in the arm, no easy feat from her spot on the couch.

"Don't call me young lady, old man," she shot back, to which Jim feigned offence.

"You wound me," he told her. He was about to speak again, but a black cat jumped up onto the back of the couch, elegantly, his tail whipping about most gracefully.

"Toulouse!" Kate greeted, obviously just as surprised as Castle was at this new creature. The cat was immediately in her lap, purring loudly as he rubbed his face against her palm.

"He was at the vet, getting Micro-chipped," her father explained.

"Micro-chipped?" Kate tore her eyes from the jet black cat for the first time since his grand entrance to look at her dad.

"Yeah, just in case he gets lost or stolen."

"Dad, you are such a softie!" she told him, smiling, obviously touched.

"Watch your dirty mouth," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Anyways I knew you'd want to see him before you left."

Kate seemed to just remember Castle's presence. "Oh, Rick, meet Toulouse," she said, petting the cat, who was still purring, happily. "I've had him since I was a kid."

"Toulouse as in the _Aristocats_?" he asked her, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Which would be worse, if I said yes or your answer when I ask you how you knew?" By now the cat had left her lap and was making its way towards Castle, confidently. Toulouse sniffed him for a moment, not in a shy manner, but as if deciding if Castle were worthy of his company, before plopping himself down in his lap without further preamble.

"You forget, detective, my daughter was watching those movies but a few years ago. I remember she made me watch that movie at least four times a day, every day, until, of course, _Mulan_ came out."

Kate replied with another musical laugh. He couldn't help but notice how much of that she was doing. "He likes you," she pointed out, reaching over him to pet the cat. She had somehow made her way back towards the man she jumped away from, and was leaning against him a bit more.

It struck Castle how comfortable she was with him, let alone with her father watching them. He was reading too much into things again. He shook off the notion, and returned to the present.

"Can you blame him?" he asked, earning an eye roll. He looked to Jim. "The roads looking clear?" he asked. The plan was to stay another night and leave in the morning, as he and Kate needed to return to work on Monday.

"Pretty clear. I'm gonna keep checking on the weather forecast- they are calling for more snow tonight, but I wouldn't count on it making much a difference, the trucks will be making rounds all night." He turned to his daughter. "I'm gonna get started on dinner- I hope you two kids are up for soup and sandwiches."

He turned to leave but looked back at the two on the couch, Castle sitting Indian style with photographs in one hand, the other on Toulouse. Kate was slouching to the point where she was almost laying against the writer, the arm that wasn't petting the cat looped around his crooked knee.

It was so…cozy. Not romantic, not really, although the undercurrent was certainly there, but more…comfortable. They looked very, very comfortable. With a smile and a small shake of the head, he left the two alone.

...

One a.m., the small analog clock about the mantel read. Kate looked up, shocked. _How had it gotten so late? _She rose from where she was laying, and immediately Castle missed the warmth from her head on his thigh. She stretched, standing up and tossing off the blanket that had found its way over her.

"I'm gonna go get changed- you need any clothes or anything?" she asked him.

"No," he replied, setting down the remaining photographs on the table, watching her nod and disappear into the hall way and then what must be her room. He stood, upsetting the slumbering cat in his lap, and began making up his leg of the couch.

He retrieved the drawstring pants Jim had lent him the night before from under a couch cushion before slipping into them and a white undershirt he borrowed before. He had all but settled into bed when Kate returned, dressed in a ribbed tank top and sweats, not unlike her sleepwear the night before.

She sat down on her side of the couch, where Rick had laid out her comforter and pillow. "Thanks," she told him, sitting on top of the covers, cross-legged. He cocked his head, confused by her actions, but the way she stared off into space in the general direction of the box of photographs dawned on him.

He scooted onto her side of the 'L' until once again, his knee brushed hers. He didn't know whether or not she had her gun on her, but he must have been more courageous than he thought, because something possessed him to lift his arm, draping it around her scantily clad shoulders.

_God, they were so bare. _

She didn't stiffed at the touch as he expected, but her body did sway a little bit, shaking with unshed tears. He remembered her words. Any emotion- good or bad- came back fiercely. She stiffened only after a moment, and he could tell she was recomposing herself.

Rather bravely, he thought, he moved the arm around her shoulders so that his hand lay palm-flat on her upper back, where the tank-top dipped. He gently kneaded at the stress knots there, using his thumb to rub it away.

"Oh my god," she spoke for the first time, her voice almost hoarse. "Do _not _ever stop doing that." He would have smiled if he hadn't been so torn. He raised his free hand, picking up just underneath his other.

She readjusted herself so that she was sitting directly in front of him, giving him complete access to her back. He had noticed how tense she was after the sledding venture, and he fancied himself partially responsible.

His hands worked their way down her back, lithe fingers quickly finding the tension points and rubbing them away. His fingers felt exquisite, and Kate had never imagined him so dexterous. She bit her lip, repressing a small moan.

Neither spoke as his hands slipped under the hem of her tank top, pushing it up only enough to access her lower back. He reached her lumbar regions on either side of her spine, and she threw her head back at the touch, the nape of her neck landing on the apex of his shoulder.

Her eyes were clenched shut, her bottom lip once again finding home between her teeth. He looked the long, exposed column of her neck with dark eyes. How he wanted to touch her there, too. How he wanted to run his lips across her neck and his tongue right up her spine.

He did none of these things, but instead cursed his biology and his anatomy and a few other anatomical life sciences before he needed to force himself away.

It seemed like years and seconds at the same time, and all too soon he was giving her back a precursory check before he was satisfied that all the knots were gone, and even then, he continued on a bit, almost unwilling to stop touching her like this.

He eased her off of his shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured, before slipping under the covers as he returned to his designated side of the 'L.'

"Of course," he murmured right back, both equally unsure of what had just happened.

She had trusted him, not just with her memories or her pictures but really, _really _trusted him. With her body, and for a moment there, with her heart. Again, where their heads met at the corner of the couch, he reached under his pillow.

This time, when he grabbed her hand, it was deliberate. Toulouse decided to rejoin the two, settling where their pillows overlapped each other, purring loudly. It was that sound and the feel of her hand in his that finally lulled him to sleep.

...

"_I wish I were as mysterious as a cat"_

_Edgar Allen Poe_


	7. Sunrise

_Authors Note: The name of this fic is to be changed: Four Walls will now be 'To Love'_  
_I'm not going to make the change until my next chapter posting _  
_(which will hopefully won't take as long as this one has). _  
_Sorry for any confusion this may create, but I promise, the Title will make more sense at a later date._  
_At least I can hope as much._

* * *

_**To Em: for listening, talking, and being silent at all the right times.**_

**Sunrise**

_**...**_

Kate wasn't ready to leave. She knew she had to go back to work, to catch the bad guys, to find justice, to keep Ryan and Esposito in line, but at the same time, she was dreading her departure.

Once, it was hard to watch her father. Watch him suffer; watch him drown in liquor and depression. Now, it was hard to leave him.

She rolled over on the couch, propping her head up on her arm so she could watch the man beside her. The couch created an awkward angle but she adjusted herself so she could admire his sleeping form.

He had yet to wake- most of the world did- but remained in a deep state of REM, his arms around his pillow, protectively. He was facing her, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. His hair was uncombed and disheveled from the night's sleep. She smiled despite herself, almost in a puzzling way. He puzzled her.

This trip up here had her re-examining him, this time in a whole new light. She was re-examining their relationship, who he was, what he meant. What had possessed her to invite him along was a mystery even to her.

She had spent two nights at his apartment after the explosion, and she was wounded. She was emotionally battered and Castle was a light. He behaved himself, he was an excellent host, and he had good liquor.

It was a nice little break.

Whether it was him or the atmosphere or the booze, she was in a good mood, and she wasn't above admitting that he had a large part in that.

"_I need to swing by Target, is that okay?" she asked Castle. He was sitting in the passenger seat, knees propped up on the dash, his eyes lost in the traffic before them. He turned to her, realizing she spoke. _

"_Of course that's fine," he told her, surprised by the question. "As long as you don't make me wait in the car," he teased., watching her visibly relax. _

"_Depends on how well you behave," she shot back, along with a saucy stare that made him grin. _

_They walked through the aisles, only the sound of the right back wheel of the cart she was pushing squeaking in protest between them. It was odd, shopping with Castle. Domestic, and weird. She pushed the cart along, Castle with one hand obediently on the side, looking around and the things for sale. _

_She was constantly grateful- Grateful when he casually looked away when she bought her toiletries, grateful when he made a very lame excuse about checking out the DVD's when she needed to get some underclothes, grateful when he casually dropped a Band of Horses CD into her cart._

"_To get you started," he said._

_After that night, it became routine- long after she had found a new apartment. She would push the cart, and he would toss in what he referred to as 'The essentials.' _

_Plates, silverware, cups, pots, pans, bowls, a can opener. When the kitchen was done, he decided she needed something to cook with all of her new kitchenware. Canned soups, tuna, bread, milk, and a whole lot of Ramen. _

_They then moved onto the bath- soaps, shampoos, conditioners, bath towels, hand towels, a loofa, and some bubble bath. He added the last thing into the cart with a sly smile, both pushing his bounds and testing her reaction. In reply, she raised an eye brow, put it back, and grabbed another bubble bath of a different scent. _

"_C'mon, Castle. Cherries. You know that." For some odd reason, he blushed at that. The next morning, though, she found a fire-resistant blanket on her desk, with a note._

'_To complete The Essential bathroom set, edited, of course, to format Kate Beckett's lifestyle.' The blue sticky note read. _

_The day they began working on her living room, things seemed to slow down a bit. He seemed set on making her apartment a home- this was obvious in the way he dropped in candles and magazines she didn't know he knew she read. Bookends, a throw blanket that matched her new couch, little wall decorations and trinkets. Photograph frames. _

_She fussed over the 'essentials', arguing that they were luxuries. She didn't need little squares to hang on her walls, or bookends. At the same time that angry words passed her lips, she was immensely touched. _

_How he knew she subscribed to Print magazine, or loved the smell of Dragon's Blood incents. How hard he was trying to make her comfortable. It wasn't the first time she had asked herself why he was there with her, and it certainly wasn't the first time she had been glad. _

_In the end they had come to a compromise- yes to the candles and the magazine, no to the wall décor. That left the photo frames._

"_Beckett, I've been to your old place- you had pictures everywhere," he reasoned. "Your new one is incomplete without them."_

"_I just don't see the point," she told him, pushing the cart with more speed than necessary, so he had to practically jog to keep up._

"_Don't see the _point_?" he asked, confused. _

"_I don't have anything to put _in _them," she reminded him, and he stopped in his quick walking. "What?" she stopped as well, now ahead of him, looking back , her eyes asking the question just as much as her mouth was._

"_We will have to get you some," he said, decidedly, folding his arms across his chest._

"_Yeah, we can hop inside the time machine and relive all those irreplaceable moments, Nikon in hand," she replied, sarcasm biting at her clipped voice._

_She watched realization dawn on his face. Why she didn't want the damn picture frames. She watched the wheels turn in his head until his eyes brightened again._

"_I'm a father, Beckett. I know I have never thrown away a picture of my daughter, and especially not the ones of me and her together. I'm sure your father's kept yours."_

_She nodded. "He might have a few," she realized. _

That was pretty much how they ended up here. One day, instead of driving to Target, they took a road trip upstate.

And here they were.

She didn't want to leave the couch, she didn't want to leave the comforter, and she didn't want to leave her grandfather's home. She thought bringing Castle along would make it easier to leave, that he would be able to coheres her to her senses, but oddly enough, she didn't want to leave him, either.

She knew, of course, she wouldn't be _leaving him_ leaving him, but things would be different when they got back to the city. They would slip into the charade of their old ways and life would move on.

_When did that become such a bad thing? _She asked herself. When last names dropped out of the equation. When the barrier of socially acceptable personal space was breeched. When she showed him a picture of her in a Styx t-shirt and he didn't make a comment.

"What time is it?" Rick's groggy voice forced her out of her mind and into the present, where he was waking. He was propped up on his elbows, the blanket once covering him falling as he rose.

She was silently grateful and secretly disappointed that he had the thoughtfulness of sleeping in a shirt. "Early," she replied, smiling a small smile as she continued to watch him.

"Were you watching me sleep?" he asked her, confused. He was adorable, she decided as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Well before your big ego got in the way, I was watching the sunrise," she told him, nodding her head to the window behind his spot on the couch. It was a partial truth, at least.

He turned to look, a small 'Oh' falling from his lips. "It's beautiful," he told her, not look away. It was too, a gorgeous, light gray canvas smeared with the most vibrant pinks and a hint of orange. The effect was only heightened by the fresh blanket of snow, the reflective surface creating the most drastic contrast to the sky.

"Isn't it?" she murmured, truly caught up in it.

"We should get going, huh?" he asked her, not looking away from the window.

"Probably should."

"Beat the traffic, ya know."

"Yeah."

Neither moved.

...

"I want some coffee," Kate declared. The sun had made its accent into the sky, where it now rest, still. Sunlight poured in, casting them both with warmth.

"I'll make some," Castle offered, standing. "If that's okay," he stopped short, remembering exactly where he was.

"Of course. I'm going to clean all this up and get everything together. We really should get going."

"Yeah." They both stood there a moment, both painfully aware that yes, they did have to leave. Castle was the one who broke the stalemate, heading into the kitchen in socked feet.

He had no sooner had the coffee in the pot and brewing than Jim Beckett joined him.

"Good morning," the older man greeted, groggily.

"Morning, Mr. B." Castle replied. Mr. B was not only a respect thing, but also fun to say. Jim just shook his head.

"Sleep well?" It was a question.

"Very. You?"

"Lightly," his response was very fatherly, and Castle jotted a mental note to remember that line. After, of course, he battled the hot blush in his cheeks. "Where is Katie?"

"In her room, I think. Packing, you know."

"Right."

"You know it's killing her," Castle said, surprising himself with the words. Jim turned to face the writer. "Leaving here. The snow, the sunsets, the pictures, the memories. You." He paused, hoping to god the man was joking about the gun earlier. "She hates the idea of leaving."

Jim just looked down at his feet, taking a sudden interest in the patterned tiling. "Kills me too, Rick." A beat, and then: "It kills me too." The coffee had finished brewing, and reaching into the cabinet for three mugs, Jim handed the writer one, after filling two to the brim. "Castle, I like you."

The admission was short and unexpected, but for some reason Rick beamed with pride. "I like you too, sir."

"My daughter likes you, too."

This observation was just as short and very, very unexpected. Rick knew exactly why he was beaming, now. "Uh-huh," was all he dared say.

"She likes you more than I think she's ready to admit."

"Sir, I don't think-"

"Well I do, son. She does. And you like her back, a whole lot more than you let her see."

"Beckett and I are just-"

"Work friends that call each other by their last names and solve murder and that's it, I know. She's fed me the same story."

"Well it's not a story, Mr. B, it's the truth-" for the third time, Castle was cut off.

"Then where's the goddamn body?" Jim asked, earning silence from the other man. "Beckett and Castle didn't visit me, Rick and Kate did. Do you know how many co-workers Katie had brought home?"

Castle shook his head.

"None." Castle looked up, catching the wiser man's eye. They were as green as his daughters. "And I don't think she's going to start anytime soon."

...

_At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear. It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us. You can love completely without complete understanding._

_Norman Maclean_


	8. Of Goodbyes and Courage

_Thank you to Andy (Bugg) and Emily.  
And AC, for the kick in the pants. _

_This, I fear, is the final chapter. Apologies on taking so long, and thank you very dearly for reading.  
Without my readers, my writing would be nothing- thank you for all the support!_

_I want to say up here that yes, this is the last chapter, and this fic is complete, but I can assure you, the story is not.  
I have a sequel planned, hopefully to be posted within the week, so please look out for it. :)_

_With love, and enjoy, Softer _

**_Of Goodbyes and Courage _**

**_..._**

The car sat, waiting, patiently, on the curb of the walk. Rick walked out and sat in the driver's seat long enough to stick the key into the ignition and rev the engine to life. He turned the radio down to a soft level and turned on the heat before stepping out and shutting the door.

The fresh snow crunched happily underfoot as he made his way back to the ranch house. He kicked his boots against the brick, knocking off the white precipitation, before entering back into the warmth.

The living room was just as it was the first time he saw it. It looked odd, he decided, almost abandoned and empty now that it bore no obvious signs of _them_. He stared at the floor, where he, Kate and her father shuffled through hundreds of pictures. He looked at the kitchen table through the doorframe, where the Beckett's let him into their life. Where Kate showed skin, where Jim threatened him, where he witnessed the exchange of father and daughter. He looked at the couch, where he ran his hands down her back.

He was almost convinced this was a dream. A cruel, torturous, lovely dream.

But it was too real.  
Too real and too raw to be anything he could write in his mind.

Kate walked into the living room, interrupting his thought. She had her coat and shoes on, her purse in one hand and a Target bag filled with pictures in the other. "Have you seen my car keys?" she asked him. He smiled, hoping she wouldn't be upset.

"I started the car, I hope you don't mind."

"No, no, that's just fine." She seemed distracted, and a little disappointed. "Thank you," she added as an afterthought, remembering her manners.

"Of course." He reached towards her, taking the bag and her purse from her. He was expecting a fight, but she let him hold the bags, releasing them absentmindedly. "You just about ready to go?" He didn't want to rush her- hell, he wasn't quite ready to leave this little haven. She was so relaxed here- so open and at ease and _happy. _

"Yeah, yeah," she looked around, as if she had misplaced her excuse to stay somewhere in the living room.

"Katie," Jim Beckett entered the room from stage left, and she jumped a little in surprise. He led her to the front door and then outside of it. Castle followed, and Jim didn't stop until they were standing on the curb just beside the car. "It's not like you to beat around the bush," he said, matter of fact-ly.

To this, she heaved a heavy, almost annoyed sigh. She turned around, and in the same moment, he stepped towards her.

Their bodies crashed together and her arms were around her father's neck, holding him tightly. Jim Beckett wrapped his arms around her waist, completely circling her, holding her as if she could just evaporate at any given moment. Her face was buried in her father's neck and his was lost in a curtain of dark brown hair.

Castle felt very awkward all of a sudden. He looked away almost immediately, feeling like he was intruding on a very personal moment. A voyeur he was not, so he focused instead on the laces of his shoes until after what seemed as hours, the two broke apart.

Castle looked up just in time to see her wipe a stray tear from her face with a gloved hand, and she let out a laugh that shook her whole body and left a small puff of breath in the cold air. Jim held her face a moment, tenderly, before planting a kiss on her forehead and releasing her, putting space between them.

"Wait, before I forget," Jim pulled out an ancient-looking polaroid from his coat pocket. "One more for the road," he declared, merrily. Kate looked at him with what looked like admiration in her eyes. She didn't ask how he had gotten the camera in his pocket, let alone out.

"That thing must be a hundred years old," Castle exclaimed, more amazed than anything.

"Twenty would be a more accurate estimate, but hey," Jim held his arms up. "I'm old fashioned. C'mon you two, in front of the car." He pushed them together, framing them with his hands dramatically.

"Dad," Kate said, smiling at his antics. To Castle's surprise, she wrapped both arms around his waist, her head coming to fall on his chest. He responded without conscious effort, draping his arm over her shoulders, turning his head into hers and planting a kiss on her temple.

The move was bold, yes, but subtle in the moment.  
So subtle it was almost natural.  
So subtle it was right.

Jim snapped the picture and after a moment, the small machine spit out a four by four photo, the colors still forming on the paper. They seemed to stay posed just a moment longer than strictly necessary, but after what seemed like an eternity and two seconds at the same time, she pulled away to accept the photo from her father.

"Wait," Castle stopped the older man as he was tucking the camera away. Castle looked him in the eye, silently asking for the camera. "One more. We have a lot of frames to fill."

The meaning was not missed by anyone of them, and Kate couldn't help but smile, shyly. Jim handed Rick the camera before stepping beside his daughter, an arm draped over she slight shoulders as she clutched the sleeve of his coat with one hand.

She stood on her tip-toes, elevating herself so she could place a kiss on his cheek. Rick snapped the picture, and when it printed, he held it a moment, watching as it developed, until two people were staring back at him.

An aging Jim Beckett smiled at the camera, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes as a side effect of the true smile spread across his face. Kate Beckett was holding onto him for dear life, her lips planted against his cheek, slightly curved into a small smile. He handed the picture to her.

"For you," he said, handing her the picture. "And for you," he handed Jim the camera.

"Thank you," Jim told him, and he didn't just mean the picture.

"You are welcome," Rick didn't just mean the picture, either. Kate wrapped her father in once last quick hug before opening the car's passenger door.

"Goodbye," she said, and completed it with a wave before sinking into the seat and closing the door. Castle was confused for a moment, but took it in stride. He grabbed Jim's hand in his own firm grasp.

"Mr. B," he said.

"Mr. Castle," Jim said back. "You drive safe now, hear?" Castle smiled a small, knowing smile and nodded profusely. He had a feeling that they weren't talking about the drive home.

"Yes sir," Rick replied. He broke eye contact and dropped his hand to hid side, making his way to the driver's side of the car. Why he was driving was unbeknownst to him, but instead of asking and having the privilege taken away, he slipped into the seat, shutting the door when he was buckled in.

He looked at Kate beside him, and she was staring absently out of her window. He placed a hand over hers on the gear shift, lightly, jerking her back to the moment.

"Castle, what are you doing?" she asked him, the edge of warning in her voice. Rick was crushed- they were only in the car and she had already called him by his last name.

"I have to put the car into drive if we plan on going anywhere," he informed her, slowly. She flushed a light shade of pink and took back her hand, looking down, mumbling an apology.

Castle shifted the car into go-mode and pulled away from the curb. And they were on their way.

Kate watched out of the window until her father was nothing but a fleck in the white countryside. She then settled for looking at the polaroid in her hands. She ran her finger down the edge of it, admiringly. They drove for a long time, passing by fields of white and the occasional barn or ranch.

An hour passed, the radio and the soft, familiar kick of the vehicle the only sounds between them. It was only then did she break the silence. "Thank you, Rick."

He turned to her briefly, surprised both by the return of his given name and the fact that she spoke at all. "For what?" he asked, forcing his eyes back to the road before him. It took her a good few minutes to answer, and just when he thought she wouldn't, she spoke.

"For everything. Really." She reached out, her hand falling on his arm, and he looked at her for a moment again. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he told her with a soft smile. "Really."

She opened her mouth, presumably to speak, when a loud lurching sound ripped through the gentle atmosphere. The Crown Vic shuddered violently and then sputtered. Then, nothing.

"Excuse me?" Castle asked the car. The car answered with more silence. He could feel the heat flow from the ventilation system die at the mouth of the vents and the cold was taking over quickly.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," Kate said, sitting up from her slouched position. Castle threw the emergency brake on and got out of the car, circling to the front to prop open the hood. She unbuckled her seat belt and joined him at the nose of the car.

"The battery is shot," he informed her, matter-of-fact-ly. He braced himself for the volcanic eruption that promised to ensue.

"You broke my car," she said, simply. "Just great." She made her way back to the passenger seat, slamming the door after her. She sat in the seat, her arms folded like an defiant child. Rick shut the hood of the car, debating on the odds of survival. He could freeze out here, or he could suffer the cold wrath of Beckett inside the car. He wasn't sure why, or what possessed him, but after a long moment of contemplation, he slipped into the driver's seat.

The chill from the outside had already seeped into the car, and the heat was dissipating quickly. "Are you mad at me?" he asked her, warily.

"No," she said, and immediately her whole demeanor relaxed. "It's not your fault."

"I'd be happy to take the blame, if it makes you feel better," he informed her, only half-kidding. She shot him a look before unfolding her arms.

"Where are we?" she asked him.

"Just outside of Kingston," he informed her, remembering the last sign he saw. She whipped out her cell phone, pressing a number into it before holding it to her ear.

"Ryan." She greeted. "Yeah, it's Beckett. Yeah, no, everything is just peachy," the edge of her voice was razor sharp. "No, I know," her tone softened. "Sorry. Look, the car broke down. Yes. Yes. Just outside of Kingston. Yes. Castle's got some GPS thing on his phone, hold on," she cupped the mouth of the phone with one hand, covering it.

"Castle, I need that GPS tracker-app-thingy," she told him. He chuckled at her playfulness before handing her the phone with the coordinates. She read them off to Ryan before bidding him a farewell and hanging up her phone. "He said he and Esposito would be here in a few hours."

"A few?"

"Apparently the Holland is backed up to friggin' Manhattan. It's a good two hours to Kingston on a clear day."

"Damn."

"It won't be too bad, Castle," she told him, smiling.

"No, I think I will survive. You promise you're not mad at me?"

"I'm never going to let you forget that the one time I let you drive, you broke my car," she informed him, earning a light, nervous laugh. "But no. I'm not mad at you."

"I'm freezing," he muttered, pulling his coat tighter around his body.

...

How they had moved to the backseat, Castle wasn't quite sure. She mentioned sharing a thermal blanket from the trunk and it was all kind of a blur after that. The cold had filled the car completely, the heat no longer lingering, and all they had was the closeness of once another in the backseat of the Crown Vic.

He was sitting, his back against the door of the passenger's side and his legs outstretched across the length of the bucket seats. Kate was huddled beneath the thermal blanket that covered them both, laying flat, facing him as she used his arm as a pillow.

He looked down and smiled, touched not only by the absurdity of this situation, but by the adorable way she was clutching his arm, her head resting on it. It was starting to cramp up, but he didn't care. He would stay that way forever if she were comfortable.

He let both she and the blanket warm him, trying to ignore the cold by focusing on her. She was breathing softly, in, out, in out. He counted the breaths she took, and he began to realize that ever seven and a half breaths, she made a cute little snoring sound.

He stroked her hair, gently, and when he was sure she was fast asleep, he let his eyes flutter shut.

It was only then did she speak.

"My mother loved Hemingway," she said, so suddenly she startled the man she was using as a human pillow.

"Hmm?" He asked her, playing off the slight jump he made and threading his hand through her hair again.

"Hemingway. He was her favorite to read," the revelation was simple and almost irrelevant, but Rick knew that it was only a preamble for the story yet to come. Kate was about to let him in a little more. So instead of speaking, he waited for her to continue, and after a moment of thought, she did.

"My mother came in to the world with so much courage. So much bravery. Hemmingway said that the world breaks us- that the world rides even the strongest until they break. Those the world cannot break, it kills." She took a deep breath, and he felt it with the hand resting on her back more than heard he heard it.

More silence ensued, and he could practically hear her gathering her words together into sentences. She had slipped a hand between their close bodies, and was now taking an increasing interest in the button of his shirt. She twisted it between two fingers, staring at it, curiously.

"My mother could not be broken."

A long, hard period passed between them where nothing was said. What exactly do you say to that? Castle sighed himself, pulling the covers tighter around them, and consequently, she closer to him.

"The world kills everyone." He told her, hoping to god it was the right thing to say.

"I won't be broken, Castle." For the first time in two hours, she caught his blue eyes with her own green ones, and like every other time, he was completely captivated. "I won't be."

...

"Will you for the love of all things good in this world, please pull over and ask for directions?" Ryan asked his partner, exasperation in his voice. Esposito just gripped the wheel tighter in his right hand, a tight line forming on his face.

"I don't _need _directions, because I am not _lost." _He replied, simply, through gritted teeth. "I know exactly where I am."

"Where is that, exactly?" Ryan asked, patronizingly.

"I am in New York, New York, between a _rock _and a large _snow bank. _I know _exactly _where I am."

"We've passed that snow bank like 3 times already," Ryan informed him.

"HOW CAN YOU TELL?" Esposito asked him, irritated.

"Look, there's Beckett's car," Ryan pointed, a blue speck amongst the white.

"It better be in a friggin' ditch," Esposito grumbled, pulling the car to the side of the road a few yards behind the dark blue Crown Victoria parked on the shoulder. He and Ryan both exited the car, immediately wrapping their scarves tighter around themselves.

"Grab the jumper cables," Esposito told Ryan, who reached into the backseat and grapped the red and black cables before joining his partner at Beckett's car. Esposito reached forward with a gloved hand, wiping away the snow from the four-doors back window.

Both men leaned forward to peek inside.

Castle and Beckett were curled together in the backseat, a small, flimsy excuse for a first-aid thermal blanket doubled over around both of their sleeping bodies. She had both arms snaked around his waist, her face buried in his chest and he had both arms around her in a similar fashion, his head resting on her temple.

The two men were no fools, they had seen how close the two had grown over the past few weeks. Ever since the night at his loft, the two had become inseparable. Bets had gone around, the odds of them having slept together, but they knew they hadn't.

They would know if they had.

No, the couple they were looking at, snugged together in the backseat of a broken down car, they weren't sleeping together. But to say they weren't romantically involved- that was debatable, and in Ryan and Esposito's shared perspective, untrue.

They might not be sleeping together, so to speak, but they sure as hell were lovers.

...

"I_f people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry." _

_Ernest Hemingway_


End file.
